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Updated: June 5, 2025
'I tried the only way I knew to help save the mine for Helen. We'd do it yet if you weren't a pack of damned rabbits. He pushed by and laid his hand on the mane of the horse Dave Terril rode. 'Give me your horse, Dave, he said quietly. 'I'm on my way home. You'll find Barbee's down under the cliff. Dave Terril was quick to obey.
To-night and with unhidden elation he accepted Barbee's invitation to 'set in and roll the bones' with them. 'Roll the bones! When some day he went back home, the owner of the 'greatest little mine this side of the Rockies, he'd work that off on his old chum, Professor Anstruther.
Two days later Barbee reported to him again. The boy's face was haggard and drawn, his eyes burned sullenly. "Six head more gone!" he announced defiantly. His look said plainly: "What are you going to say about it? They're gone." "So you've turned cattle-thief, have you, Barbee?" was what Steve said. A sickly flush stained Barbee's hollow cheeks. "No!" he snapped hotly. "I ain't. But "
An' there's more to come if you take that an' let me go an' jus' watch my play an' take a chance with me when I say so. What's the word, Barbee?" Packard, having held back thus long, remained motionless, glimpsing unexpectedly something of Barbee's soul; watching a little human drama, become spectator to the battle royal of the two contending factions which made up a man's self.
Marguerite began to sing close to Barbee's ear: "I'll give to you a paper of pins, If that's the way that love begins, If you will marry me, me, me, If you will marry me." "Pins!" said Barbee; "why, that old-time minstrel must have been singing when pins were just invented. You can have "
On the floor, near his feet, was a revolver; from its position Steve guessed that Barbee had just kicked it safely out of Blenham's reach. Barbee's own gun was in the boy's hand. "You're a pretty foxy kid, Barbee," Blenham was saying tonelessly. "You got the drop on me; you're the firs' man as ever did that little trick. Yes; you're a pretty foxy kid!"
At every swinging stride of Barbee's roan he grew but the more impatient for the end of the ride and the face of Jim Courtot. The broad sun flattened against the low hills and sank out of sight. Dusk came and thickened and the stars began to flare out. Against the darkening skyline before him the Last Ridge country reared itself sombrely.
But Barbee's name was never on her lips. It was all Rowan, Rowan, Rowan. Poor child, she chided him for being so cold to her; and she talked to him about the river of life and about his starting on the long voyage from the house of his fathers; and begged to be taken with him, and said that in their family the women never loved but once.
And now from Barbee's fingers came the last cards, one for Longstreet and one for Chavez. Longstreet drew a queen and went into the silence of deep meditation; to Chavez came a lowly seven. Longstreet needed no prompting that it was time to bet; further he understood that this was the last round, the final opportunity.
"A regiment of infantry, general." "Where?" "Yonder in the gap." And he pointed to a gorge in the little mountain before us. Stuart wheeled and beckoned to Gordon, the brave North Carolinian, who had made the stubborn charge at Barbee's, in 1862, when Pelham was attacked, front and rear, by the Federal cavalry. "We have flushed a regiment of infantry, Gordon. Can you break them?"
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